The apartment is silent, the main sound being the far–off murmur of the city underneath. I stand by the huge window, watching the lights glearn somewhere far off, a sign of how far I am from the existence I once knew. All that feels like it’s changing, but, nothing appears to change by any means. Alexander hasn’t spoken a lot throughout the night. The pressure between us has developed thick, more unmistakable than at any other time in recent
memory.
The heaviness of his quiet lingers palpably, making it harder to relax.
I turn around and find him standing by the bar, gazing at the glass in his grasp as though the main thing sounds good to him at this moment. His jaw is tight, his shoulders firm. I realize something’s wrong. However, he’s never been great at sharing what’s inside.
“Alexander,” I say, my voice milder than expected, attempting to overcome any barrier between us. “We want to talk.”
He doesn’t look up, just swirls the amber liquid in his glass. The movement is almost mechanical as if he’s trying to escape into the rhythm of it. “Now’s not the time, Leila.”
I take a step closer, the distance between us heavy. “When will be the right time, then? Because it feels like you’re slipping away from me, and I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine.”
His grip tightens around the glass, and for a moment, I think he might throw it against the wall. But he doesn’t. Instead, he places it down gently on the counter and turns to face me, his expression unreadable.
“You don’t understand,” he says, his voice low but fierce. “You have no idea what it’s like to have everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve built, hanging by a thread.”
I swallow, feeling the sting of his words. The silence between us stretches, and for the first time, I see it–the vulnerability in his eyes. The walls he’s so carefully built around himself are beginning to crumble, just a little.
“I do understand,” I reply, my voice quiet but steady. “I understand more than you think. You’re not the only one who’s afraid of losing everything.”
His eyes flicker, and I see a flash of something–perhaps surprise, or maybe even recognition. He steps closer, his gaze fixed on mine as if searching for something I’m not sure I can give him.
“You truly think you comprehend?” He snickers, but it’s harsh, an empty sound. “You don’t need to convey the heaviness of the world on your shoulders each damn day. You don’t need to be continually investigating your shoulder, thinking who will attempt to annihilate all that you’ve worked for.”
I feel an ache in my chest. However, I won’t allow him to excuse me like that. Not any longer.
“Perhaps I don’t convey a similar weight,” I say, my voice firm presently, “however I have my weights, Alexander. Furthermore, I’m here. I’m standing right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He falls quiet, and briefly, we simply stand there, gazing at one another. There’s a crudeness in the air, an association that is at long last beginning to shape between us, despite how delicate it could be.
“Leila…” His voice flounder’s interestingly, and I see the breaks in his shield. The walls he’s fabricated so high descend piece by piece, and I keep thinking about whether he even understands it’s working out.
“I’m terrified,” he concedes, his voice scarcely over a murmur. “I’m terrified that I will lose everything. My company, my reputation… and you.”
His words hit me harder than I expected. I know this isn’t just about business or money. This is about **him**. About the fear that’s been eating him alive for so long. He’s afraid of being alone, of losing control, of letting someone in and having them tear him apart.
“I won’t leave you,” I say, my voice breaking slightly. “I’m not going anywhere, Alexander. But you have to let me in. You can’t keep pushing me away every time things get tough.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. I can see him processing my words, his eyes flickering with uncertainty and doubt. But then, slowly, his shoulders relax. His jaw softens, and I can see the fight drain out of him.
“I don’t know how to let you in,” he confesses, looking at me as if he’s afraid of the answer. “I’ve spent so long building walls, I don’t know how to tear
them down.”
“You don’t have to do it all at once,” I reply gently, stepping closer. “Just… start small. Let me in, bit by bit. Let me help you with this. We can do this together.”
The words feel heavy, but for the first time, they don’t feel impossible.
He looks at me, really looks at me, for the first time in a long time. And then, for the first time since we’ve known each other, he smiles. It’s small and tentative, but it’s there. And that’s enough.
“You’ve always been more than I gave you credit for,” he says, his voice soft. “I’ve been blind to you, Leila.”
1
I reach out and place my hand on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin under my touch. “You don’t have to do this alone, Alexander. I’m here. I’m not
1/2
going anywhere.”
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His gaze softens, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I see a flicker of hope in his eyes.
Be that as it may, similarly as I thoroughly consider we’re breaking, the moment is interrupted.
The phone rings, sharp and persistent, slicing through the delicate quiet between us.
Alexander solidifies, his eyes snapping to the phone as though it’s a lifesaver, a sign of all that he’s attempting to stay away from.
With a murmur, he gets it. “Hawke,” he says, his voice previously slipping once again into that chilly, systematic tone.
I watch as his appearance solidifies, his stance unbending again as he listens eagerly, gesturing sometimes. I can’t make out the words, however the change in his disposition is prompt.
I dismiss, my chest tight, once more, feeling the distance between us developing.
At the point when he hangs up, his face is shadowed, his jaw tight.
“They’ve taken their action,” he says, his voice low and loaded up with dissatisfaction. “We have another battle on our hands.”
I don’t ask for details. I don’t need to. The weight of his words is enough.
As he leaves, I feel the association we recently produced getting endlessly, as though it was never there in the first place.
I attempt to inhale through the frenzy ascending in my chest; however, the more I consider it, the more the truth hits me.
This marriage isn’t just about affection – it’s about survival.
–
Also, I’m worried about the possibility that no matter how much we open up to each other, we might not survive what’s coming next.
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